


Everglow

by Damalia (Achrya)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Horror, M/M, Magic-Users, Magical Tattoos, Minor Character Death, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Vampires, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-12 06:46:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5656516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Damalia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean doesn't know anything about supernatural creatures or Otherworldly occurrences until one walks right into his mother's house and takes everything from him, including his humanity. When Captain Smith, head of the Recon Unit, offers him a chance to stop what happened to him from happening to others and, just maybe, find the creature who destroyed his life he takes it. </p><p>If he'd been told he was being dropped in the so-called 'Second Chance' squad and partnered with Marco Bott, the tattooed witch who clearly doesn't have any sense of self-preservation, he might have picked option B.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Youth is Yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wingsofbadass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsofbadass/gifts).



> Prompt Description: Jean and Marco as officers of the secret supernatural branch of the police with ridiculous monster problems as well as unresolved sexual tension to battle. Extra credit for one saving the other’s life and emotional, overwhelmed face-touching.  
> Notes: Took the prompt and kinda...went to town with it. I was all kinds of inspired. There is some gore, some dark elements, heavily tattooed and witchy Marco, and creature Jean (lots of creature people, tbh) and blood drinking. I’m so sorry about that. I just...yeah. Ran with it. I feel like it was meant to be a much lighter prompt and I clearly wouldn't know 'light' if it smacked me in the face. *hangs head* But I will hit all of those points. Honest.

“There you are.” The overhead light flipped on; Jean jerked up, hand slapping over his eyes, and growled in the general direction of the door to the basement interrogation room. The response he got was a familiar amused laugh. “What do you have against your desk or, I don’t know, one of the offices for file reading?”

He turned, squinting past the, frankly, ridiculously bright light to glare up at Marco. “People are less likely to bother me in here.”

The ‘Aside from you’ was heavily implied but if Marco caught the not at all subtle jab it didn’t show on his face. Instead he walked deeper into the room and leaned over Jean; the faint scent of burning wood and lemongrass trailed him.

Jean swept his tongue over his gums, trying to sooth away the prickling itch that swept over them.

“This isn’t one of ours is it?”

Jean didn’t get a chance to respond or sweep away what he’d been looking at before Marco, who not only cared little for the concepts privacy and personal space but also didn’t have the grace to ask before touching other people’s things, moved some of the papers Jean had been looking at closer to him. Jean’s heart leapt into his throat; this was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid.

He wasn’t ready to do this, not again. Not after last time when he’d been so sure and had come crashing back to earth so hard. That had nearly ruined him and his team.

Marco made a soft humming noise as he flipped through crime scene photos and read through the reports of the EMTs and detectives who’d been on scene before fixing him with an unreadable expression.

If asked about it later Jean would insist he didn’t squirm but, in the moment, waiting for the accusation of obsession and drawing connections where there were none to come, he might have felt something like nervousness. Maybe. 

“You think this is connected to your case?”

Jean looked down at his hands and shrugged. He did think that, yeah, but he’d thought it before and been unable to prove it. That was why he was trying to make the connections before he brought anyone else in.

He couldn’t make those same mistakes again or, at least, he couldn’t let anyone else take that fall with him.

“There’s a lot of blood for a vamp attack.” Marco bent closer to the crime scene photos and, indeed, there were arching sprays of blood on the walls and puddles of it seeping into the carpets. Jean could practically smell the metallic tang just looking at the photos. “But there always is. She likes to play with her food.”

Jean let his eyes fall on the back of Marco’s neck and the tattoo that was shifting around over his skin; most of the time it was totally hidden beneath his shirt but sometimes, depending on his mood, it crept up. It was a tree that covered a good chunk of Marco’s back, with petrified looking white wood and large flat oval leaves. The trunk of the tree curved up along Marco’s right side with branches curving over his right shoulder blade and then fanning over to the left.

The white alder, to shield.

The leaves at the top of the tree were moving, blowing lazily in some breeze only Marco could feel.

“She likes to feed on her victims’ terror.” Jean said finally. The words tasted like ash on his tongue but he fought to keep his expression blank.

Marco tilted his head in agreement while moving his fingers over an autopsy photo. The father, in his fifties, former military, large, still relatively fit, the first to die. Then the mother. The boy and two girls had been kept alive for days after judging by decomposition and severity of torture before first the daughters and then the son had been killed.

“Why do you think it’s connected? The world is full of messed up things and most of them have nothing to do with Recon.”

Jean hesitated for a moment, considering Marco tone. There was no mockery or judgement, just genuine curiosity and of course that was all. Marco had been on his side from the start and, even when he felt like he was losing himself, the other man was always there to see him through to the other side of whatever he’d fallen into. He never accused him of being obsessed or blinded or ‘too close’.

Marco would stand beside him and chase down one insane farfetched lead after another without hesitation. That kind of loyalty was equal parts awe inspiring and terrifying.

“There’s footage from a grocery store close to the home, about two days after the last time anyone remembers seeing any of the family.”

Marco looked down at the stuff in front of him meaningfully, not needing words to communicate ‘so where is it’, and Jean sighed before reaching down for the bag sitting at his feet. The footage wasn’t part of the case file, or any file. This case had gotten caught in his alert web and then he’d spent two weeks carefully combing through any and all available video and pictures from around the crime scene. Security footage from businesses, traffic light cameras, videos and selfies people had uploaded to the internet; he’d crawled through it all piece by piece.

The Recon Unit made the NSA look like a kid using Google when it came to getting access to information they probably shouldn’t have access to.

He placed the folder, with it’s grainy printed out video captures, into Marco’s hand. The brunette opened it, took one look, and firmly shut it. Jean’s eyebrows went up and stayed up as Marco carefully gathered up everything on the table, put it back into the envelope it’d been sent to him in, and put it into his bag along with the folder.

“Have you eaten today?”

He blinked and, for one absurd moment, wondered if everyone had been right and he’d finally lost his shit. Had he spent so long looking that he’d imagined what he thought he’d seen in the video, what he’d printed out and placed inside that manilla folder. Was she all in his head?

Was this Marco way of acknowledging that he’d gone too far? Calm, concerned, damn near sweet and not a hint of judgement but instead steering him gently away.

“Jean?” Marco had hopped onto the table and swung his legs around so one was on either side of Jean’s body, so close that he could feel the heat from the other man and hear the familiar thump-bump of his heartbeat. He looked worried.

The tingling around Jean’s teeth returned in earnest.

“You see her?”

Marco’s eyes darted down to the bag. “I saw her. In the future you should probably open with that sort of thing.”

Jean opened his mouth, a smarmy retort waiting on the tip of his tongue, but all that came out was a rush of air. He slumped forward, feeling as everything inside of him had come out with that breath, and that he no longer had the energy to hold himself up.

Months of people telling him to leave the matter alone, that he was running himself down chasing a ghost and that the matter was closed, and he finally had proof that he wasn’t. Grainy grocery store pictures, yes, but he knew her face like he knew his own.

He had thought this moment would be a triumphant one, full of righteous anger and smug vindication, but he just felt...empty.

Tired.

He leaned against the older man for a moment, letting Marco keep him upright while all the things that came together to make his friend rolled together. Scent, sound, the warmth and feel of his skin, the always surprising strength in his body. Fingers stroked over his hair, warm against his own cool skin.

A breeze ruffled his hair and the door clicked shut softly behind them. He straightened up, the hand in his hair sliding down to sit on his shoulder, and sat back with another huff of air. Marco didn’t hesitate to follow him when he sat back in his seat, dropping down to sit in his lap like it was the most normal thing in the world and not a violation of at least three workplace sexual harassment rules.

At least three. Maybe more.

It was, admittedly, hard to think of them all with Marco straddling his lap, completely filling the scant amount of space between Jean and the table, and looking at him with open concern. He considered telling the brunette that he was fine but there wasn’t much point in lying to Marco. This was his best friend and partner after all; they wouldn’t have been much of a team if they couldn’t see right through each other.

"We can be down at the scene in a few hours but there won't be much point if you pass out before we can actually investigate." 

Jean stared at the the older man flatly. "Are you my dad now?"

"Just a friend helping out another friend for purely selfish reasons." Marco's lips twitched into a half smile then smoothed out at Jean's pointed look at their positioning. "For starters you're a better meat shield when you're well fed. Plus you can be kind of a bitch when you don't eat. I didn't want to say anything, being the incredibly polite person that I am-" 

Jean scoffed and then, faced with the brunette's offended pout, laughed. What was left of the knot in his stomach faded.

Marco squeezed his shoulder then brought his hand up so it was in front of Jean’s face. His gaze drifted to the inside of Marco's wrist; a hint of his wave tattoo was there, gently lapping at a bruise that was just starting to go yellow with age and two small round scars above where the major artery pushed against his skin. They were reminders that Jean hadn't always had it in him to be so careful, to take just enough and not hurt. Reminders that Marco had been patient beyond what Jean had deserved all in the name of friendship. 

He considered saying he wasn’t interested, wasn’t hungry or in the mood but, again, there wasn’t any point in lying. He just hated to be so close to those photos, to have the reminder of how close he was to being something they found and killed instead of working with right there.

He was the right kind of monster by grace of time, a few strokes of ink, and his own stubbornness and there was always a thread of fear, that worry that those things wouldn’t always be enough and one day he’d go too far and ruin the one good thing to happen to him in nearly a year.

But it was Marco, alive and perfect, smelling like fire and brightness, heartbeat a constant invitation, and full of power that simmered just under light brown brown skin and an easy smile. 

When his teeth dropped it was like scratching an itch that had been just out of reach for hours. When Marco’s heart stuttered in its rhythm then thumped harder it was music to his ears. The wave on his wrist crested, foamy and white, then broke and trickled between the two dots of scar tissue before flowing back to repeat the process. 

\---

_Nine Months_

She’d said her name was Minnie and she had easily been the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. Big brown eyes, straight dark brown hair that fanned over her heart shaped face, full lips, and skin as pale and smooth as porcelain. She was tiny and almost frail, with thin willowy limbs and a sunken in quality to her eyes.

Jean remembered that she’d been cold; his mother had touched her and then started clucking and fussing immediately, insisting that he turn up the heat and get her something to cover up with.

He remembered that when she’d smiled her teeth had been too white.


	2. A Pretty Rare Happiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we’ll be moving through the present (Jean’s case) and the past (The JeanMarco relationship up to that point.) The first few chapters are heavy in the past and kinda slow moving but it picks up (And I would know because I wrote it.)  
> I also tweaked things a little but other than changing it so what happened to Jean was 9 months ago instead of a year nothing of import has been altered.
> 
> Warnings: Blood, pain, magic, Marco’s smarmy thoughts about his coworkers.

Jean moved his tongue over Marco’s wrist, sweeping away beads of blood from the sluggishly bleeding wound in a move that tickled in the most pleasing kind of way. Marco laughed the breathless and lightheaded laugh that only emerged in moments like this and Jean glanced up at him with eyes that were more bright amber than brown.

He looked like he was searching for something then after a moment rolled his eyes at what he found in Marco’s expression. Marco could guess at what it was; glass eyes, a flush high on his cheeks, parted lips and deeper than usual breathing.

He probably looked, for lack of a better term, a little fucked out.

“I’m starting to think you only keep me around for my teeth.”

“You caught me. I only put up with your attitude because of all the biting. Frequent blood donation is just the highlight of my existence.” The deadpan was, he was sure, less effective when he was smiling like an idiot. He could form a magic circle, call on the spirits of his ancestors, and make fire rain from the sky without breaking a sweat but managing to not be a dopey mess after Jean bit him remained beyond his abilities. “Lucky for you because what would you do if I wasn’t around to play on-call juice box?”

Jean pressed his thumb over the wound, shaking his head ruefully. It was firm pressure but somehow hesitant and careful; Marco knew there wasn’t even a noteworthy amount of Jean’s actual strength behind it.

Jean was always so very careful with everything he did no matter how many times Marco told him he didn’t have to be; for one the office was meant to deal with Eren's temper tantrums and nothing Jean did was going to equal the damage a full grown wolf shifter was capable of. As far as handling Marco himself went he was a lot sturdier than Jean seemed willing to give him credit for. But at least he wasn’t carrying bandages around with him and making guilty cow eyes all over the place anymore.

That period of time had been enough to make Marco feel bad about even offering his blood when, by most accounts, he was one doing Jean the favor.

The reality of things was a little more complicated.

He put a hand on Jean’s shoulder and used it to lever himself off of the other man. He swayed a little, blood having rushed places that weren’t his head, but waved off Jean’s attempt to steady him. He’d be fine soon enough and letting Jean baby him only added to his partner’s stupid guilt complex.

The world, specifically their world, was full of ‘Unconventional Eaters’. Reiner supplemented his diet with fire, Bertholdt and Armin could only eat specific fruit that grew in the Fey parts of Otherworld, Eren literally went out and hunted small woodland creatures and ate them raw, but Jean insisted on being squeamish about a little blood.

It didn’t matter that it was freely (and incredibly enthusiastically) given or that there were Otherworld stores he could go to and buy blood packs like humans bought soda (There were so many types and brands of blood it made even Marco’s head spin) because to Jean it was still some shameful thing he couldn’t really accept.

It was ridiculous except that it wasn’t. If anyone had reason to hate what they were it was Jean. 

Marco was what he was, a witch with a niche in blood magic and enchanted inks, by birth and by choice. The Ackermans, both of them, and Connie were with them strictly because they choose to be. Armin, Bertholdt, Reiner, and Sasha...they’d been born in the Otherworld and didn’t know any different.

But Jean (and Eren for that matter) had been pulled in battered, bruised, screaming, and dying. Become this thing that killed your family or die. 

Jean had been dropped into things behind the curve and nothing Marco did seemed to make things any better. 

\---

_Nine months ago_

 

Marco frowned at the mess on the walls of the living room; blood splattered over framed pictures of a smiling family that spanned years. A mother, just starting to go gray and get heavier around the middle, two daughters with ash brown hair and sharp hazel eyes, and a son, tall with a blond undercut and brown eyes that were angry even when he smiled for the camera.

The mother was a florist, the oldest daughter a teacher, the youngest daughter still in college, and the son a first year cop; everyone had been home for the holiday.

It was only luck that Recon had been called in before the local human cops could get in and trample all over everything. No one had reported to work for the past three days and someone from the son’s precinct, remembering he’d been talking about heading home to Trost, had called the local PD. The uniform they’d sent to the mother’s house had just happened to be Fey and, after getting one look through a window, had put in a call to Recon.

They would call in the locals once they were done and any signs of obviously Otherworldly influence had been removed.

Ackerman was crouched over the mother, taking pictures of her wounds and quietly discussing with Hange the best way to destroy the bite marks covering their victims. Some of them were clearly fang marks, neat and tidy around major blood sources, and those they would just run a razor through but in other spots chunks of flesh had been torn out with claw and teeth.

Reiner had his money on a wolf hybrid and when Reiner put his money or, rather, nose on something Marco tended to believe it. Sense of smells didn’t come any better than dragon descendants (which was why Reiner was currently hanging half out a window making retching noises while Connie patted him sympathetically on the back. The smell was almost too much for Marco who had, in his time, walked into some truly awful scenes.) and wolf shifters after all.

It made sense, dragon nose aside; vampires carrying wolf traits tended to be among the most brutal and messy with the least impulse control. Add in a bad bloodline or good old fashioned psychopathic tendencies and

Well.

You got someone who used a glamour or mind manipulation, both of which were illegal for non-Recon affiliated creatures to use on humans, got invited into a home over the holidays and slaughtered everyone inside for, if the amount of blood gone to waste as any sign, fun not food.

That was why he was here instead of Bertholdt. Reading the blood was supposed to be one of his specialties and he would get to it soon enough, once everyone else have cleared out of the house. Not because he needed to be alone but because he hated seeing terrible things and then puking in front of his co-workers.  

In spite of everything he always managed to be surprised at the capacity for evil, for cruelty, people had in them. When he’d left home to join Recon he’d never imagined the sort of things he’d end up seeing, end up doing in the name of covering up the Otherworld, and maybe that meant he was stupid or naive (both, probably.)

He’d wanted to help people but for the most part they showed up after the fact to clean up messes. They caught rogue Otherworlders, yes, probably stopped more people from being hurt, sure, but they couldn’t do any of that without having victims first. They always started a step behind. 

He understood it, a crime couldn’t be stopped before it happened, but he sometimes felt like very little actual helping happened.

This was their third family elimination like this; the first had been in March, the next in October, and now this. All they had to go on was a neighbor of the second family remembered seeing a young darkhaired woman with the youngest daughter.

It amounted to a lot of nothing. The Vampire Consulate was playing stupid, as they so often did with suspected Wolf Hybrids (if there was one thing Vampires, Shifters, and Recon agreed on it was that whoever had started the trend of breeding between vamps and wolves had been an asshole) and trying to point the finger at ghouls or weres so even if they’d had a decent description, and they didn’t, there wouldn’t have been any help there.

It was a lot of-

A boom and the sound of cracking wood drew his attention away from the pictures.

“I found someone!” Eren shouted from somewhere deeper in the house, sounding entirely too excited for having found one of their two missing bodies. “Alive.”

Marco’s heartbeat stuttered.

Someone was alive? In all of this? How?

Reiner was back inside so fast Connie almost fell over jumping out of his way. Gold eyes flickered and narrowed, becoming slitted and glowing, and his lips parted as he tasted the air.

Marco’s stomach flipped in sympathy. No, he didn’t envy superhuman senses at all. Being a simple witch, and wasn’t that a funny concept, was more than enough for him.

“I don’t smell anyone alive.” Reiner sounded decided sulky even as he jogged in the direction of Eren’s voice.

“Go with them.” Ackerman said as she stood up, eyes sweeping around the room. “Tell Eren to come here.”

“And to bring his teeth.” Hange added absently.

Marco shuddered but didn’t ask. Some things were just better off unknown.

He followed Reiner upstairs into what looked like a bedroom then stopped in his tracks in the doorway. It smelled like death, sickly sweet rot and copper, and he couldn’t imagine how Eren had picked up the smell of life.

Compared to the living room it was downright clean. The door had been busted off it’s hinges, and damn near broken in half, but everything inside seemed to be in it’s place and there was no blood splatter anywhere.

There was, however, a body. Pale, so pale Marco could see the blue of blood vessels under his skin, and covered in those pinprick fang bites. Neck, collarbone, chest, arms...none of the visible skin seemed to have been spared. Messy hair that might had been blonde but was so matted with blood and who knew what else that it was a greasy brown now.

He may well have been alive but Marco wasn’t so sure that was a good thing.

Eren was crouched in front of a chair, carefully cutting through what looked like yards of metal wire looped around the unresponsive body. Ankles and wrists were bound to the chair and not only had they been rubbed raw and bloody but in some spots the wire had worked itself in so deep Marco couldn’t see it anymore.

“I think it’s the son.” Reiner said. He hadn’t hesitated to talk into the room and, as he spoke, reached down to tilt the man’s face up. A moan, dry and rattling like something was loose inside of the man, made Marco jump. Reiner yanked his hand back like he’d been burned.

Alive then.

He edged closer, frowning at a dried streak of blood that started at the the corner of the man’s mouth and ran down his chin.

“Is he…” He let the question hang, glancing down at Eren nervously. He hadn’t been at the Yeager scene, none of the younger officers had even been part of Recon when that had happened, but they all had passing knowledge of it.

They all knew how it had ended up.

“Turning?” Eren didn’t so much as paused in what he was doing, shifting from one now unbound ankle to the other. “Yeah. Smells bad, maybe more bloodsucker than not. Already going cold. Can you do anything?”

Marco bit his lip. Could he do anything? Healing wasn’t his area of expertise and purification even less so and what he could do called for a pure water source. He hadn’t exactly planned to be healing anyone so he’d brought his gun and a few talismans with him, not ritual supplies.

Armin would have been a better option; those kinds of things ran naturally through his bloodline and Armin was pretty damn good even by the lofty standards of his people. Marco had never seen anyone layer rituals on top of each other and keep all of them moving in sync and without losing any threads of power like the little blond did or throw down magic circles so fast. 

But Armin wasn’t with them. Worse he was in Otherworld for the season, getting to him could take no time at all or it could take days, it was impossible to know until they tried. 

Did they have days?

“No?” Another length of wire was clipped and fell to the ground. “Shoot, salt, and burn then?”

Marco made a choked noise before he could stop himself. They didn’t salt or burn humans (or kill if they could help it) and, even if they did, this one hadn’t done anything to warrant it. Eren glanced at him, eyes heavy lidded and gleaming green under the unruly fringe of his hair.

“We’d be doing him a favor. No one should have to wake up as the thing that slaughtered their family. If we do it now, with dragon fire, no one would know the difference.”

“If his sire did all this he’ll probably end up rabid anyway.” Marco looked at Reiner in alarm. Reiner stared back then looked away with a shrug. “I could do it.”

Of course he could. Reiner would do anything in the name of the job and Otherworld; burning some poor human to ash probably ranked somewhere around ‘punching ghouls in the face’ on his scale of ‘messed up stuff.’

Though Reiner seemed to enjoy punching things and looked at least a little uncomfortable with the suggestion to burn the human, which was more than they could say for Eren. The wolf just looked...blank.

Marco swallowed then shook his head. All the shifters in the worlds and he had to work with the two who defaulted to killing everything as their first, and second and last, suggestion for dealing with everything. 

“We aren’t setting anything, or anyone, on fire. Eren, Ackerman wants you down in the living room, please tell her what’s going on. Reiner can you...hold him still?”

“Yeah.”

Eren huffed in a decidedly wolf-like manner but straightened up and started to tuck his knife away without a word. Marco held up his hand, stopping him, then gestured for the blade. He got a cocked eyebrow before it was dropped into his open palm.

He waited until Eren was gone before approaching Reiner and the man. Reiner’s hands looked huge curled around narrow shoulders, ready to keep the body in place.

Marco used to blade to slice open his index finger then smeared a messy water drop shape and two jagged lines that vaguely resembled waves on the man’s forehead.

“Ready?” He asked the question out loud but, honestly, it was more for himself than for Reiner.

This was going to hurt and at best it would buy a little time. At worst it would still hurt but wouldn't do any good at all, but he’d wanted to actually help someone, not just clean up bodies, hadn’t he? That was worth some temporary pain wasn't it?

“Are you going to say something? Bertl says things when he does spells.”

He refrained from pointing out that Bertholdt needed verbal spells and power words because he was kind of a hack and liked to play with things he shouldn’t and had to be very specific about what he was doing to avoid accidentally waking up every dead thing for miles. 

They all had their different ways of doing things and their own individual strengths.

Bertholdt's just happened to not be in his magic. 

Or, maybe, Marco was still bitter about having his last day off ruined because someone had accidentally woken up the entire morgue. 

Instead, shooting Reiner a dirty look, he put his finger in the center of the water drop. He focused on his heartbeat, forced it to slow, and then reached for that thing, that something that he couldn’t quite explain except to call it magic, that sang its way through his blood. He closed his eyes and could feel it under his skin, liquid heat and always moving, then pushed it outwards.

There was a moment of nothingness; his vision dimmed, all sound dropped away, and he felt like he was floating. Then something found him, jumping into him with a crackle of electricity and a smell like burning hair and ozone. His ears pounded with screams but rather than pull away he pushed deeper into it, followed it up as far as it would take him.

He could see things flashing before his eyes, too fast to fully track, spreading like poison through his veins. Long dark hair, flashing teeth, bloody tears, painpainpain, thrashing and bleeding, nomorenomore, cryingscreamingnopleaseI’lldowhateveryouwantdon’t-

He felt each bite and the venom that flowed like ice. 

He saw her, with her big childlike eyes and sweet smile, and felt the connection stretch from her in two directions. One doubled back to him and the other went-

She saw him and snarled in fury before pushing him back with a strength that shocked him. He felt the connection he'd followed to her snap, felt the impact in his body like the breaking of bones and shattering of teeth and might have cried out. The sense of floating abruptly ended. 

He fell hard.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *mutters something about Eren having like 3 lines of dialogue and managing to be incredibly depressing in spite of that*
> 
> Next chapter: There are allies and then there are Allies. Jean and Marco go to get theirs.


End file.
